My son Alexander likes him.

Not a day goes by without him calling me.

Buying things at Puntera (in Madrid) together

He can still dance.

As a younger brother, I was awed when he sang and danced to"The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)."

He was Benji.

He was so popular, a group of girls in Idaho founded a fan club in honor of him.

They attended all his local performances, met often, and regularly sent him care packages.

He was so popular he created an autograph.

It's pretty cool.

His autograph is out-of-this-world cool.

He speaks great Spanish with a slight Mexican accent.

During Sunday dinner, he used to mix all his food together (e.g. gravy, potatoes, chicken, peas, carrots) and eat it.

His impersonation of G.H.W. Bush.

CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO

He would let me stay up late with his friends and watch Saturday Night Live.

When I was little . . .

. . . I remember him playing "The Entertainer"--by Scott Joplin from memory.

Whenever I live nearby . . .

. . . we always attend the Priesthood Session of General Conference together.

A grudging compliment.

Whenever we go out together and despite the fact that he is several years older than me, people always think that I look older than he is.

He taught me how to do a one-handed push up.

He introduced me to nigiri sushi.

Anatomical proof of brotherhood.

When I used to have a six pack--he still does--one could see that we share the same irregular shaping of the abdominal muscles, which I have never seen on anyone else. 

He can do that forward-sliding tap dance move that seemingly defies physics.

He used to let me play with his nun-chucks . . .

. . . which he knew how to swirl around his body at dizzying speeds. 

I remember two pairs: one that made of two pieces of dark wood with a simple rope between; and, another made of metal and a chain. On the second, the two halves could be screwed together to make a large metal baton. To a little boy, it was the coolest thing ever.

The time he played Jack . . .

. . . in the Orange County High School for the Arts' production of Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim. (I remember his green hat, the remote-controlled cow he milked on stage, and waiting for him in the lobby after the production.)

The Jared smell

He exudes a natural perfume that is neither pleasant or unpleasant, but it is palpably discernable on things he has been around for a long time (e.g. pillows, clothes).

Every time I sense it, I remember jumping on his bed as a kid.

Between the ages of six and ten . . .

. . . I would wake him up on Saturday mornings by jumping on his bed. He never got mad at me.

He is the only one in our family that can get a tan.

He is my big brother.

The time he made crepes for me

Our family was living on Deborah Circle and, in the basement's tiny kitchen, he made french pancakes from scratch, topped with homemade raspberry jam. Delicious.

His command of the Southern Californian highway system . . .

. . . which, frankly, scares me to death.

"Anyone want to buy a letter 'A'"

He introduced me to Savion Glover.

His rubber body dance.

He gave me an appreciation for . . .

. . . the late Elder Neal A. Maxwell by once saying: 

"Listening to him talk is like watching jewels go by on a conveyor belt: you want to pick up each one an look at it. But the next one is on its way, so you don't have time to stop."

Knowing he was important to Jared, I began listening to and reading Elder Maxwell more seriously; something that stills pays dividends.

The time he drew a mustache . . .

. . . on a priceless, one-of-a-kind statue of Abraham Lincoln emancipating the slaves. (An expert restorer was called in to remove the stain.)

Reason # 490

His leisurely eating pace reminds us all of the benefits of slow digestion.

His leisurely eating pace reminds us all of the benefits of slow digestion.

The time he pretended to be Super Woman and swung from a chandelier.

One time, while performing on stage . . .

. . . at the Promise Valley Playhouse, he let me sit under the stage with other cast members. Someone had put glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the wooden beams and I spent the night listening to him on the stage while coming up names for fictional constellations.

His clothing staples: black and silver.

His healthy appreciation for Donny Osmond.

Cooking chicken breasts on the George Foreman grill.

Shopping at South Coast Plaza

His lizard face.

The story of him laughing uncontrollably at the Missionary Training Center.

The week he came home from his mission . . .

. . . he reading the scriptures at the kitchen counter and shared with me Alma 26:5-7:

5 Behold, the field was ripe, and blessed are ye, for ye did thrust in the sickle, and did reap with your might, yea, all the day long did ye labor; and behold the number of your sheaves! And they shall be gathered into the garners, that they are not wasted.

6 Yea, they shall not be beaten down by the storm at the last day; yea, neither shall they be harrowed up by the whirlwinds; but when the storm cometh they shall be gathered together in their place, that the storm cannot penetrate to them; yea, neither shall they be driven with fierce winds whithersoever the enemy listeth to carry them.

7 But behold, they are in the hands of the Lord of the harvest, and they are his; and he will raise them up at the last day.

It was the first time I had read it. But I would read it over and over again to myself years later on my own mission and think of that day.

He introduced me to Gene Kelley.

His journal writing.

One of my first memories--I must have been 5--was seeing him at night, writing in his journal. I, then, started my own and haven't stopped.